


Chimera

by spacehopper



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dark, Dead Chocobo: Do Not Eat, M/M, Main Ending, Poor Life Choices, Possibly Unrequited Love, Self-Hatred, Unhappy Ending, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 06:23:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13184205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: “It truly is bleak, isn’t it. Alone in the dark, and your beloved king has left you.” Noct’s voice, but it isn’t Noct, it willneverbe Noct.But he’s never been strong enough for Noct.





	Chimera

A stick cracks under his shoe and he pivots, daggers flashing to his hands while the scrap of paper he’d been holding falls, disappearing into the crunch of leaves beneath his feet. A lone owl cries out, and Ignis knows he shouldn’t have come here. Knew it before he came.

“Hey, Specs,” a familiar voice says, a hint of laughter under the words. “What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?

And thus the trap is sprung.

Ignis’s every movement is brittle as he turns, spine snapped straight and ears sharp. The leaves rustle as the figure approaches, and a cool finger down his cheek.

“It truly is bleak, isn’t it. Alone in the dark, and your beloved king has left you.” Noct’s voice, but it isn’t Noct, it will _never_ be Noct.

“He will return,” Ignis says with a confidence he doesn’t entirely feel. If only he could have done something, anything else. If only he’d done more in Altissia, in Gralea, even before it all, back in Insomnia. If only he’d—

“But doesn’t it get lonely sometimes?” A darting tongue grazes his neck, fingers clenched around his shoulder. “Don’t you just want to forget?”

“Never,” Ignis says, even as an arm slides around his waist, pulling him closer. Even as he feels the brush of hair against his brow, spiked with gel, signs of a figure a few inches shorter. And when the kiss comes, as sweet as he always imagined, he doesn’t pull away.

He’s never been strong enough for Noct. 

Breath catches in his throat as the kiss ends, and a hand tangles in his hair, tugging his head down into a mockery of a bow. It makes little difference, but he closes his eyes anyway, another barrier of illusion, another way to secrete this away, deep inside. 

“A gift,” says Noct’s voice. “A chance you never took.” He bestows a kiss on Ignis’s forehead, as his fingers tighten in Ignis’s hair. 

“What is the price?” Ignis asks, the question pulled liked poison from a wound. 

“Ah, you learned your lesson well, all those years ago in Altissia.” The words wend their way through his mind, driving him back to his fallen king, a ring, and a choice that had never been a choice. And to a monster who wore the shroud of a man, and laughed in the face of the gods. 

“Kneel, and call me what you would call him.” The words are sickly sweet, and Ignis’s throat tightens with revulsion.

“No,” he says. And yet it is not a strong, as firm, as it would once have been. It has been nine years. And in this endless darkness, doubt has begun to fester. 

“This is your only chance,” he says in a sing-song voice. “Do you think your king would ever debase himself for you? No, the King of Light is pure.” A hand cups his jaw, tilting his head up. “But you and I? We are tainted.” He lingers on the last word, and pulls Ignis into a biting kiss, teeth piercing skin and will.

Ignis shudders under the touch. The wind picks up, tugging at his jacket, dragging a handful of leaves and tossing them into his face. The owl makes its call again, and far, far away, a lone wolf howls. A few years ago, he would’ve spat the words back. But it’s been so long since he’s felt the sun, since he’s heard Noct’s voice. 

So Ignis kneels, and bows his head, and says, “Your Majesty.”

“Good.” There is only a moment, and then he feels the press of a hard cock against his face, and greedy hands dragging him towards it. When he grips at the fabric he can feel, he knows it, has retrieved it and washed it and sorted it many times before. As his mouth slides slowly over warm flesh, a hauntingly familiar finger draws wet figures on his cheeks. He chokes as he cock presses deeper, but he doesn’t resist. He can’t. Not anymore. 

The grip on his hair becomes cruel, the pace punishing, but he takes it, he deserves it. For his failure, for his doubt, for his weakness. He gags, and the pressure is relieved for a moment before resuming, unrelenting. He almost loses his balance as the leaves shift below him, but rough hands hold him in his place. He is shamefully hard, cock pressing against his pants, simply from this illusion, this mockery of love, this chimera. He doesn’t expect he’ll get any relief, but then, he doesn’t want it. Not now. Not here. 

When the moment finally comes, it’s like a fire burning through him, purging the sins of his failure, while he chokes down the darkness. He expects harsh rejection, but instead the release is tender, a gentle hand stroking his hair, a finger trailing around his mouth, and a cloth wiping it clean. 

“I hope that was as satisfying for you as it was for me.” The voice is still Noct’s even though the illusion should be shattered, and despite himself, Ignis reaches out a trembling hand, and receives what he asks for, gripping him and tugging him close, enfolding him into an embrace. He buries his face into the soft t-shirt and inhales, and for just a moment, he’s where he’s always wanted to be.

Then a hand shoves him back, sending him sprawling. 

“You disgust me,” Noct’s voice says. “You always have. A useful servant, and nothing more. If you die in my service, it’s for the best. It’s more than you deserve.”

Ignis gets shakily to his knees, and his hands find the paper. He hesitates, then folds it carefully. A reminder.

“A keepsake, how lovely.” 

Ignis thinks for a second that this is the end, that now he will be left in peace, but when has he ever been kind? A booted foot kicks his arm, and Ignis and the paper go flying, slamming into the frozen earth.

He struggles back to his knees, head bowed, waiting. But there are no more words to say. So he remains, hands splayed in a carpet of rotting leaves while a madman laughs, then leaves him, wavering and wanting, still alone in the dark.


End file.
